


Five Times Jack Took Charge and the One Time Brock Did

by sky_NoLimit



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 Times, Abusive Relationship, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, Homophobia, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, hurt! Brock, jack rollins hot power top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_NoLimit/pseuds/sky_NoLimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm wrong. I'm a terrible person who is a sucker for hurt Brock Rumlow. Enough said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jacks Idea of Romance Isn't Typical.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 of 6, hope you like and it makes sense. Love Brock Rumlow, no matter what!

        It’s been one of those weeks and Brock is truly grateful that it is now the weekend. It’s just gone eight pm and he is ready for a beer and for that lasagne that his thoughtful neighbour, Mrs. Connors, had dropped round two nights previous. ‘You’ve been looking thin, dear. Can’t have a young man like yourself getting worn down’ she’d said. He was grateful to have a neighbour like Mrs. Connors, she was a watchful eye when he was away and he really didn’t mind helping her out with her lawn or a small amount of DIY. In truth, she was what Brock believed to be the archetypal grandmother and he was loathe to admit it, and god forbid Strike should find out, but he wished sorely that his own Grandmother had been like Mrs. Connors. His own Grandmother, had been a callous and hardnosed witch whom Brock had not bothered to keep in contact with since he left her shack of a home at eighteen without a word of his destination, she could be dead by now, and he hoped she was. An odd way to think of one’s childhood primary caregiver but well deserved as Brock saw it.

        Nonetheless, as Brock approached his home his stomach gave a fierce growl and he moved just a little quicker at the thought of some good home cooking. Deftly he unlocked the door and stepped inside. At first, Brock went about things as normal a quick sweep of the house to ensure all his security measures were in place, a rapid change of clothes into lounge pants and a loose sweatshirt, followed by the turning on of the oven and the collection of well chilled beer from the fridge. Tevo was a blessing in Brocks mind and he was soon settled on his couch watching the Tuesday night basketball game with his legs propped up akimbo on the coffee table and occasionally swigging from his beer. The weekend was shaping up to be quite pleasant if things continued in this peaceful manner. Brock liked his team and he trusted them, really, he did, he knew that they would follow orders and get the job done but, he was still working on getting them under his thumb. He’d been team leader for Strike for less than eight months and he was younger than several of his teams more grizzled veterans. He’d only known the team in the capacity which he knew them now, as lead. Brock had been head hunted by Pierce to head up Strike and it had been signed off by Fury who’d been impressed by his understanding and attitude to world order. As such, the team followed his without question in the field but off the field they were a very different matter. Brock was the ‘new guy’ in their eyes, and unknown quantity. It didn’t matter how many missions they had completed together, how long he’d been in the field, prior experience, rank, none of it. If you’re new, you are new. Hence why Brock was so pleased for the weekend and a beer. Halftime soon arrived and Brock found himself bereft of liquid so hauled his ass off of the sofa to fetch a beer, a Perroni because fuck it he was going Italian tonight, and put the lasagne into the oven. Grabbing the beer first, because it’s all about priorities, Brock chuckled darkly to himself at the thought of what Strike would make of him drinking these European light beers. Brock could well imagine the homophobic slurs that would be tossed around behind his back, he was reasonably sure they all thought he was anyway. Well, he was but fuck them, it’s none of their business where he chooses to make his bed. Shaking his head to try and dispel any more thoughts about work, focus on your relaxing weekend you ass, Brock cracked the lid off his beer without the opener, it wasn’t a twist top, and drew heavily from it. He sauntered to the fridge to retrieve the lasagne and restock his beers and it was as he bent double to collect the oven dish that everything changed.

        Suddenly a boot flew out of nowhere whilst Brocks upper half was hidden behind the ajar fridge door, it caught him without recompense in the hip and sent him careening into the cupboards to his left. Brock was so stunned he had no time to cover his head and his head collided drastically with the cupboard door hard enough to make him see stars. It was a heavy blow, no doubt, but Brock was a trained professional. Instinct replaced shock and he was soon staggering back to his feet and readying to counter attack. So you could well imagine Brocks surprise when he comes to face his second in command, Jack Rollins, who is stood so casually an outsider would think he was supposed to be there.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at Rollins? You break into your CO’s home often and attack them?! Brock roared indignantly again, surprised to be met by a chuckle and casual demeanour.

“Only the pretty princess ones.” He sneered. “Sir.” He added belatedly.

“For fuck sake are you looking for a kicking, get your ass out of my home before I write you up for serious misconduct” snarled Brock, choosing not to rise to the princess comment.

“Brock, you embarrass yourself. You’ve pranced round all week like you’re the big dog, playin’ at soldiers and I’ve had enough of starin’ at your twinkie ass being in what shoulda’ been my spot!” Rollins growled back, his casual demeanour now replaced with unbridled rage.

        Brock was taken aback by this sudden attitude change and, in all truth, was flummoxed as to where this was all coming from. Rollins, up until now, had been one of the better behaved members of Strike, he’d proven to be a dependable SIC and has shown Brock no outward disdain. But now, he’d broken into Brocks home, attacked him, threatened him, looked totally calm about it and now switched back to the malicious persona he’d first attacked with. This all left Brock feeling distinctly wrong footed and in the face of having an all-out brawl with his SIC in his kitchen Brock opted to try and diffuse the situation. Brock felt confident that if the moment called for it he could take Jack out, banking on Rollins underestimating his skill because of his leaner stature, but Brock also knew in that situation there was a good chance he could take a serious injury or worse lose and neither of these outcomes appealed to Brock in the slightest. So, diffusion.

“Look, Jack, whatever your problem is we can sort it out on Monday but it’s our first weekend off in six weeks and you need to leave. Right now, as you’re Commanding Officer, I’m telling you to remove yourself from this position or be faced with serious disciplinary repercussions.” Brock stated evenly, surprised by his own eloquence and just a little bit proud that he was holding his own. Jack didn’t seem to share that opinion and shook his head sadly.

“Brock you were so close. When you we revving up I was sure you were gonna go to ground like a CO should do and kick my ass but you pussied out. This is why you shouldn’t be team lead. Strike doesn’t respect you. They see right through your shit and know you fall back to playin’ desk jockey rules rather than get down and dirty like a real dog of war.” Jack rumbled and slowly he began to sidle around the counter causing Brock to retreat around the kitchen island to keep something between them.

“See!” howled Jack. “Even now you’re bitchin’ out and losin’ ground to me because you know I’m harder than you. Fuck knows what Pierce thought you were good for, Strike shoulda’ been mine!” Jacks tone was starting to ramp up again and Brock was no longer convinced that he could diffuse this predicament.

        Equally, Brock had reached the end of his patience and could give a fuck if this guy thought he was wrong for Strike, he just wanted him out of his goddamn house. Before he could make such a demand Jack continued his spiel.

“How the fuck are we meant to be a force of Hydra if out bitch leader can’t fight and spends his free time helping ol’ ladies! Fuck that, Strike deserves better, I deserve better. We don’t deserve some faggy bum boy who sucks cock for a promotion to destroy what we’ve all worked for!” hissed Jack, once again circling towards Brock.

        Brock looked on in shock, he really was out of his depth, and he was running through his weapons cache’s he had stashed around the house trying to think tactically what he could use if Jack took this further. Brock opted for a show of force and decided to put his foot down.

“Fuck you Rollins!” he spat whilst refusing to give any more ground despite Jacks constant movement towards him like a shark in the water. “I got that job ‘cause I’m the best man for the job. Rather than blame me, look at yourself and see why Pierce didn’t choose you. Now get your ass out of my house before I tear off your balls and feed ‘em to ya’!” Brock challenged, keeping his stance firm and dominant. For a moment, it appeared to have the desired effect, Jack relaxed again and an easy grin replaced his previously snarling face, and fuck if these U-turn emotions weren’t going to give Brock a motherfucking headache.

“Well shit, maybe you ain’t so bad. There’s something in you I guess, but tell me Brock; whatcha’ gonna do if I really do refuse?” smirked Jack maliciously, leaning back against the counter. “Come on, big man, make me.” He challenged.

“Rollins,” Brock said taking a step forward. “Get out, or I knock your ass out and throw it to the curb. Last chance.”

“Fine, have it your way bitch.” With that, Jack turned, pushing off of the counter and headed out of the kitchen for the door.

        Brock was once again stunned by these sudden changes and a brief thought of order a psych evaluation for this guy first thing tomorrow flashed through his head. Brock followed at a carefully distance, deeply relieved to be out of a room with a volatile intruder and draws full of knives. It was as they passed though the living room that Brock realised he’d been played again by Rollins. The man in question pivoted sharply of his heel to slam into Brock with his shoulders sending the pain crashing to the ground. For the second time that night Brocks head met sharply with an unyielding for as it he was knocked to the wood floor. Rollins wasted no time and with lightning speed he hooked his ankles under Brocks knees and pushed down with his thighs, effectively trapping each of Brocks legs in a vice of each of his own legs. Jack snatched Brocks flailing and uncoordinated arms out of the air to prevent a comeback from his victim. Viciously he crunched Brocks hands into the wood floor with a tremendous force causing Brock to wince in pain.

“Guess this is what you want isn’t it fag? Love a man pinning you down and fucking ya’ into oblivion.” Jack whispered into Brocks ear whilst the younger man twisted beneath him, desperate to find a purchase and kick Jack off of his body.

“Fuck you Rollins, wouldn’t be seen dead with your raggedy ass” spat Brock, his twists continuing in vain.

“Nah, bud. Not a choice for you anymore, you need to be put in your place and I figure I’m the best man for the job.” Rollins chuckled darkly to himself.

        Brock stared at him in disbelief, the man had gone from clear disdain for homosexuals and Brocks existence to wanting to get in his pants. They guy was well and truly off the wall, a true window licker. Desperation began to bubble in Brock’s chest as he bucked a writhed bellow Jack to try and unseat him, but it was no use. Using one of his bear like hands to grip Brock’s wrists, Jack roughly unbuckled and removed his belt before encasing Brocks wrists in the belt.

“Get off me you prick, get off!” Brock hollered fitfully. Jack merely chuckled at the exclamation and began to hum to himself, almost as if he were ignorant of Brocks entire existence. “Jack you mother fucking thunder cunt, if you don’t…” Brock’s threat was cut off as Jack shoved a handkerchief into his mouth, providing an effective muffler to Brocks threats and cries of displeasure.

“Really don’t need to be hearin’ all that foul language, Brockie” cackled Jack as he took Brock by the arm to haul him bodily from the floor and place him into a sturdy headlock. Brock bucked and stamped out with his leg in an attempt to take out Jacks knee but Jack countered by slamming him into the wall. “Now, you got a choice. We do this in the bedroom or here on the floor. I was plannin’ an adventurous spin with ya’ so a bed would be more comfortable for ya’ own sake. But, I’m happy to rip you into pieces on this floor if you wanna protest some more, fag.” Jack rumbled, using his body weight to pin Brock heavily against the wall.

        Jacks substantial weight and size meant that he was slowly suffocating Brock by constricting his chest, already Brock’s head was starting to spin with a lack of oxygen. In his hazy state all Brock could think was that the bedroom option would give him more time to counter Jack and perhaps get rid of the belt. Brock was still muffled but quelled his efforts and tried to slacken his body as an indicator to Jack that he wouldn’t resist further.

“Now that’s better, come on, it’ bedtime,” Jack snickered as he kept Brock in his firm headlock and moved him to the stairs.

        Negotiating the stairs Brock began to wonder, how did Jack seem to know where he was going? How had Jack known about his friendship with Mrs. Connors? It certainly wasn’t something he’d ever mentioned to Strike. Brock began to realise Jack had been watching him for much longer than just tonight and that thought put ice in his chest. What else had he seen Brock doing? Any of his rare weekend pickups? The call he put in to an animal shelter when he decided he wanted to adopt a dog, Jesus, how much had this guy seen and heard? Arriving at the bedroom, Jack abruptly kicked Brocks legs out from under him, dropping Brock to his knees before booting him heavily in his left shoulder to send him hurtling to the ground. Brock had just enough time to catch himself on his forearms and spare his face but it still hurt.

“Stay there.” Jack commanded.

        Brock watched as he went to Brocks wardrobe to retrieve more belts and toss them onto the bed. Whilst he was distracted, Brock took his chance to go for his gun in the bedside draw. He scrambled to his feet and made to lunge but was tackled by Jacks obscene weight and sent back to the floor. Jack gripped his hair like a vice and pounded his forehead to the floor, stunning Brock once more.

“Pathetic.” He growled. “Not even a decent effort, no matter, changes nothing.”

        Maintaining his grip on Brocks hair, Jack tugged him to his feet before landing a venomous punch to Brocks lower back and shoving him forward on the bed. Climbing on stop of Brock to straddle his waist, Jack reached behind for one of Brocks belts and secured his already bound wrists to the iron bedstead. Brock groaned beneath him, his head still to cloudy to move much and the distinct feeling of nausea was quickly flooding through him. He was so disorientated that Brock didn’t notice much else and only able to moan feebly even when he did notice that Jack was rapidly divesting him of his clothes. Once stripped Brock kicked out desperately as he felt Jack seize his ankle and try to tug it towards the bed post, Jack yanked hard on the limb stretching Brocks torso and tugging cruelly on his bound wrists. Jack quickly secured both ankles, leaving Brock in a mockery position of an upside down ‘y’ on the bed. Brock tugged fruitlessly trying to untie himself but had his struggles suppressed once more as Jack straddled his back and, to Brocks horror, was now very much naked himself. Leaning down, Jack licked a disgusting strip up Brocks neck, the wet trail causing tremors to wrack his frame in fear. Brock couldn’t believe his predicament, he was about to be raped by his SIC. He could only hope that was all Jack would do.

          Jack ran his hands almost reverently down Brocks sides marvelling at the stretch of the sinuey muscle and light display of Brocks ribs through his skin, the kid was looking a little lean, drawing a snarl from his young captive. He chuckled once more but said nothing, tired of dialogue and ready for action. Shuffling back Jack took up position between Brocks thighs and continued to stroke Brocks sides as he lowered his head towards Brocks puckered ring of flesh. He kissed it once tenderly before plunging forth and licking a hard heavy stripe up Brocks ass. As he did so Brock moaned piteously beneath him. Brock didn’t want this, not even close but the sensation was undeniable. Jack continued to assault Brocks behind with a random collection of kisses and licks until he knew Brock was hard beneath him. He kissed a slow path up Brocks spine, pausing only at the base of his neck to whisper once more into Brocks ear.

“Hope you’re ready, ‘cause it’s gonna happen anyway.” Jack jeered whilst Brock could only give an anguished groan from behind the cloth, torn between pleasure and horror at his own arousal from a man who was clearly out of his tree.

        Jack leant back and took himself in hand while parting Brocks cheeks with his other, he took only a moment to weight allowing Brock to whine again, no doubt begging behind the cloth for Jack to desist. Jack shot forward and through himself deep into Brock, up to his hilt with a moment and settled there to enjoy the terrified and mortified pained howls being emitted by Brock. He took only a moment to enjoy the auditory stimuli before pulling out to thrust back in as roughly as before, then settling into a brutal rhythm without reserve. Brock wailed and cried from behind his muffler, mind lost to the pain, all pleasure lost to that spike of cruel flesh Jack forced into him. Time was lost to Brock and he felt nothing but the searing burn of penetration before preparation and his own wilted hardness pressed heavily into the sheets beneath his torso. Relentlessly the assault continued until Jacks thrusts became increasingly erratic and he halted shivering into Brock as Brock felt Jacks hot release pulse into his body. Brock choked on the muffler horrified at the thought Jack hadn’t used protection, he’d hoped that was why Jack had paused before spearing him but that hope was lost now. Brock continued to shudder and tremble as Jack withdrew. Although, it was Jacks next move that shocked him the most. Jack was undoing the belts and releasing Brocks now completely numb limbs.

“No need for these,” he spoke softly. “Can’t see you running off on me anytime soon.” Jack left the room to the bathroom and Brock curled into himself, lost in the befuddling events unfolding in his bedroom. Jack returned with a warm wash cloth in hand and leant forward to clean Brocks backside only to pull back when Brock flinched at his encroaching presence.

“I won’t hurt you,” Jack spoke softly again. “I know I was rough but you needed to know what I felt seeing you as Strike leader.” Jack stroked gently down Brocks head and rubbed his thumb through the short hair behind his ear, ignoring Brocks quivers.

“Well you’re right, that is was definitely a surprise. How did you know about Mrs. Connors?” Brock said, opening his eyes to look at the man he hoped wanted to be his boyfriend.

“Had to be convincing. Told ya’ this was a good way to do our first time, love seeing you as my helpless little bitch, especially considerin’ what a pain you been this week.” Jack laughed out, deep and warm.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t follow orders. On the first time front, don’t think I’m gonna walk straight for a week, be lucky if nobody notices on Monday.” Brock chuckled weakly, strung out from sub space and ready to sleep, he'd forgotten that he'd never reached his own climax.

“Huh, you’ll be fine Princess. Don’t speak ill of my romantic methods though,” Jack warned as he slapped Brock robustly on the ass before climbing into bed with his boyfriend. Jack hadn’t felt this powerful in a long time and he was desperate to explore how much he enjoyed nailing his CO. For now though, he was happy to sleep knowing Brock was where he belonged, under him.


	2. Jack's First Rule: You Don't Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack does jealousy, all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con and domestic violence, give serious consideration to reading if you are sensitive to such events.

        They had been an item for a while or, at least, they had been doing something that resembled being an item. Brock wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened but, gradually, Jack had slowly begun to insert himself into Brocks life. It started with the random appearances at Brocks after work, he would bring take out with him or a film, sometimes Jack was just claim he wanted to see his face. Then it became that he would want to spend the whole night, rather than a rough fumble on the coach before leaving. After that it was wanting to spend a weekend, then every weekend. Not long after Brock was finding Jacks items scattered around his home. The fateful day soon arrived when Jack turned to Brock one evening and said ‘why don’t I just move in?’ to which Brock didn’t know what to say. His silence was enough for Jack. It turned into their first big fight, sure they’d had small spats that had left Brock tearful or with a black love bite on his neck but this was ground breaking. The fight itself was bearable, Jack walked away and left Brock bleeding and limping. What Brock couldn’t deal with was the silence that followed, Jack ignored him in all aspects with bare minimum professional courtesy. Brock thought he could live with it, adjust to it, at first, but he was wrong. It ate at him that he couldn’t talk to Jack, he was isolated as he rattled like a solitary ghost around his now vast and empty house. He felt cut adrift as if Jack and what they had was the only thing that had kept him tethered to the rest of humanity and now, without Jack, he was just shell of a human life. He didn’t have many friends, or any at all, outside of Shield and those at SHIELD were his team and could hardly be considered anything more than colleagues. Jack was violent and Jack could be brusque but he was so gentle afterwards, he would envelop Brock in his arms and cradle him like a child. He would cuddle him close, smoothing his hair when Brock woke panicked in the night from distant memories of life long past. Jack couldn’t boil an egg, yet this didn’t stop him from bringing take out and ordering what he was sure were Brocks favourites, even though they weren’t always. It was this that Brock missed, the connection, the life line, the touch. Two weeks after their fight, Brock found himself on his knees blowing Jack for all his worth in the locker room at the Triskellion, it’s the first contact he’s had with Jack in the whole fortnight.

“Well, guess this kinda’ absolves ya’ of your sins?” Jack sneered as he zipped himself back up after coming over Brocks face and making Brock lick it from his fingers.

“Jack, I’ve missed you. Please, come back, come home?” Brock pleaded and he sincerely hoped that hadn’t come out as whiney as he had heard it. Brock watched Jacks face with open desperation as Jack appeared to deliberate his suggestion and he couldn’t deny the intense swoop of relief he felt when Jack’s face broke into a lopsided grin.

“Course I’m comin’ back with ya’. Take more than that to make me leave your ass!” Jack said, cocky smirk adorning his rough features. “I’ve got my truck so I’ll follow you after work. Most of my shit is in it anyways. Been kippin’ on Murphy’s floor. Be good to get some decent food without any vegan shit or to-fuck in sight, ya’ know?”Jack chuckled.

        Brock was too relieved to respond however, he all but threw himself into Jack arms and inhaled his smell as subtly as he could, merely thankful to have his boyfriend back and an end to his tiresome solitude.

        It’s the Saturday lunchtime after Jack came home with Brock the previous night. Jack has slept late, waking only briefly to shove Brock out of bed for coffee claiming that he couldn’t do it because he needed to reacquaint himself with the bed having been sleeping on Murphy rather miniscule couch. Brock had felt guilty at the discomfort Jack had obviously been in and was only too happy to oblige with coffee. So off Brock had limped, last night had been a rather robust reunion after all, down to the kitchen. Once there he had decided to surprise Jack with an omelette, about the only thing he could cook really well, and set about prepping. By the time Jack followed him down in search of the coffee Brock was able to quickly dump his mixture into the pan and get cooking.

“Hmm,” moaned Jack and he slid his muscular arms around Brocks trim waistline before resting his head on Brocks shoulder so that his breath tickled Brocks ear.

“Definitely missed my little bitch housewife, hubby needs some lovin’.” Jack growled as he swatted Brock hard on the ass causing the younger man to jump and yelp but just about manage not to send omelette mix everywhere.

“Missed you too” Brock said softly, nuzzling his cheek against Jacks.

“We should celebrate” Jack suggested as he pulled away to settle at the kitchen island, pouring coffee from the pot but neglecting to pour Brock one. “Like, really celebrate, go out. Find a bar, club, something. Wanna’ show my wifey off.” He added with a leer.

“That sounds good actually” Brock said, casually flipping the omelette in the pan. “We could try that bar on 4th and then maybe that new club, I think it’s called Ishka or something. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sounds pretty good.” Jack said leaning back as Brock stepped over with the hot pan to deposit the omelette on Jacks plate. “Cheers, babe.” Jack said as he raised his mug.

        The evening rolled on quickly, Brock’s afternoon seemingly having flown passed in a whirlwind of mission updates to read through and helping Jack get his things out of his truck and back into the house. He’d seen Mrs. Connors whilst carting some of the luggage in and given her a cheery wave but was surprised to have been met with only a tight smile and weary eyes in return. Before he could call out to her, Jack had stepped up behind him and waved boisterously at the old woman too, only to receive the same underwhelming acknowledgement.

“Grumpy ol’ bitch” Jack had cursed.

“Hey, she’s nice really. Maybe she’s not well or something,” Brock offered hoping to placate Jack.

“Whatever, she’s probably gonna’ die soon anyways right” Jack snickered darkly.

        Brock could only offer an unsure smile in response before carrying on up to the house, he liked Mrs. Connors and was perturbed by her response to him but, he wasn’t prepared to upset the apple cart with Jack having only just got him back.

        Regardless, they boys headed out for the evening. The bar was good, they drunk some beer, Jack had given Brock a couple of tequila shots before they had moved on to try Ishka. Surprisingly, the mood was pretty overwhelming and despite Jack’s claims that he didn’t dance, he wasn’t quite the twink Brock was, or something to that effect, both of them were soon gyrating on the dance floor. The heat, the lights and the tequila were hitting Brock pretty hard but he loved the sensation of Jack rolling against his body and feeling the heat of his arousal pressing tightly against his ass and the ways his fingers gripped him tightly by the hips. Jack pulled away and Brock was thankful the loud music could cover his audible whine but sadly, couldn’t hide his disappointed face.

“Gonna’ get some drinks.” Jack shouted in his ear. Brock nodded his agreement and stepped to follow but was stopped by Jack’s hand against his chest. “Stay, keep dancing’ your pretty ass, looks good out here.” Jack smiled with a toothy grin with that he stepped away to the bar.

        For a moment Brock was unsure, he felt somewhat naked without Jack covering his back and a little lost at dancing by himself, it wasn’t a familiar situation. But soon, the beat changed and Brock found himself being motivated by the energy of those around him to get bouncing to the rhythm and soon enough he was lost in the track. He was surprised by the touch of hands to upper waist, stroking seductively over his pecks and down his sides, he leant back into Jacks touch stunned by the sensual soft touch. The large, strong set body rocked into him and Brock smiled as he salaciously wiggled his hips against Jack’s crotch. The really kicker came when the bear like paws twisted him and he came to face to face with someone who was most certainly not Jack. Quickly Brock stepped away. He blushed as the new man pushed forward into his space and bent over him, Christ did everyone have to built like a tank?

“Come on, my little athlete. Bring that fine body back to floor and show me some more moves, I know I got some you might like,” the stranger dared, crowding closer to Brock.

“I’m sorry,” Brock said putting his hand on the man’s chest to prevent further invasion. “I’m here with my boyfriend, I mistook you for him, and you have a similar build.”

        Before the man could reply, Jack appeared at Brocks left, his eyes fixed on the new guy, no drinks in his hands. Brock could feel ice form in his stomach before Jack said anything, he knew that look and t frightened him.

“Jack…” he began but was quickly cut off.

“Be quiet Brock.” Jack rumbled without taking his eyes of the interloper. “He’s my boyfriend. Get lost.” The guy gave Brock a last look over, before raising his hands in defeat.

“Sorry man, didn’t know he was taken.” With that he disappeared into the crowd.

“Jack, I …” Brock started again but was cut off this time by a ravaging kiss that left him slightly shocked and breathless.

“Home, I think.” Jack took his hand and turned for the door.

        The journey home was blessedly short and quiet. Short was great though the quiet left Brock feeling distinctly uneasy, Jack was rarely silent and when he was it was never a precursor to anything good. They came through the door and Brock caught himself on the back of the sofa as he stumbled slightly whilst removing his boots.

“Go on up, I’ll get us some water.” It was short although not bitter and in the interest of being a team player Brock smiled and went on upstairs.

        By the time he had finished his ablutions and donned his pyjama pants Jack was sitting on the bed with two bottles of water on the bedside table. Brock climbed in on the far side and was shuffling down under the covers when finally the storm began.

“So, did you enjoy the club?” It was a meaning filled question and Brock knew a wrong answer could cost him a lot.

“Yeah, the club was good but I’m sorry about that guy. He came from behind and he put his hands on me, I thought it was you.” Brock said back finishing in a hushed tone.

“Huh, he had you twistin’ nicely for him didn’t he? What were you talking about when I came over?” Jack queried, his tone deceptively light. His back was still turned away from Brock but he was removing his shoes now.

“I told him I had a boyfriend.” Brock offered, his tone a library like whisper.

“Really ‘cause he told me, he didn’t know you were with anybody.” Jacks timbre deepening into something far more threatening as he pulled his shirt off over his head revealing his long brawny back.

        Brock pulled himself more upright in bed and his hands began to twist the duvet cover in his fingers as nerves began to get the better of him. The conversation was gathering speed and Brock was becoming distinctly aware he had little control of the direction.

“I had only just said it when you came, I think he was just drunk or he might not have heard me, it was loud in there.” Brock murmured meekly.

        Finally, Jack turned to the bed and Brock. He prowled across the bed until he was on all fours over Brock, his substantial body dwarfing Brock and making the wirey man beneath him shrink back into the bed, tugging subconsciously at the duvet as he did so, even though it was pinned under Jacks body weight.

“I’m thinking you’ve been without me for a while, yeah?” he said, his body still looming over a now trembling Brock. “Might need a reminder of how this whole thing operates.”

“Jack, really, I told him. You know I’m only interest in you, I really thought you were behind me dancing, I didn’t know, as soon as I did I, please, Jack, please…” Brock whimpered fretfully, frightened about how this was going to end.

“No, you’ve done enough bitch, no your ass is mine.” Jack snarled ripping Brocks hands from the edge of the duvet and slamming them back into the metal bed frame with enough force to make the young man yelp in pain.

“Hold it.” Jack growled.

        Brock gingerly too hold of the bars, unable to slow the terrified beat of his heart, it felt like if Jack looked down he’d be able to see it beating through his chest. Jack sat up and undid his belt only to wrap it tightly, to the point of biting Brocks skin, around Brocks wrists and the bed posts.

“Please, Jack, be gentle…still sore…last night” Brock pleaded. He was met with cruel laughter.

“Fat chance, bitch. Give you some real pain, last night was nothing.” Jack mocked.

        Jack pulled back to his side of the bed to retrieve his previously worn socks that were now tied together forming a cruel fabric imitation of a gag. Brock whined and twisted his head but Jack gripped his hair tightly in one fist causing him to yelp again and allow Jack to stuff the knot into his mouth before rapidly tying it off behind Brocks head. The sweaty taste of the socks made Brock screw his eyes up in distaste, another mistake. He didn’t see the backhand but he certainly felt it, his head snapping viciously to the side. His eyes came open and the tears of surprise and pain began to gather at their corners.

“Don’t fuckin’ start blubbin’ you whore! It was barely a stroke and either way” Jack hissed coming closer to Brocks ear so that his breath ghosted against Brocks neck. “Ya’ know you fuckin’ deserve it too.”

        Jack got off the bed entirely now, to yank the duvet off of Brock and onto the floor. Brock instinctively pulled his knees up, even though it offered him no protection from Jack. As proven by Jack grabbing the waist band of hid pyjamas and yanking those roughly off of his body before flinging those on top of the duvet. Jack quickly released himself from his jeans to reveal an almost erect member that had Brock flinching at the sight of it, looking away in hopes of envisioning being somewhere else. Another mistake. Jack delivered a cruel punch to Brocks side, winding him and causing the smaller framed man to curl into his side to try and absorb the pain.

“Eyes on me, whore.”

        Jack got back of the bed, he snatched Brock’s ankles into a firm grip in each hand and twisted Brock onto his back once more before forcing Brock to spread his legs. When Brock tried to resist by pulling his legs back together Jack maliciously twisted his right ankle until Brock went limp from the pain and for fear that Jack might actually break it if he didn’t submit to the powerful man.

“Well done, slag. Now ya’ getting’ it” Jack taunted.

        Jack shuffled forward on his knees further between Brocks limp, spread legs and dropped forward so his arms were bracketing and already immobile Brock. His dark, swirling eyes locked with Brocks and held his gaze. For several minutes neither moved, Brock felt like a mouse hypnotised by a snake and found himself unable to pull away from those orbs. Part of him wanted to believe it was because he was so enraptured by Jack but a small indignant part of him hissed that it was all because of fear. Fear of the retribution he would face if he disobeyed again. Fear of punishment for things that weren’t his fault. Fear of being alone once more, adrift without a life raft to save him. He’d been adrift as a boy, as a teenager, as a young man and there was nothing he feared more than a life spent alone. Finally Jack broke the silence.

“I was gonna’ lube up, but I don’t feel you deserve that. Do you?” he grinned, all teeth, all shark.

        Brock could only shake his head and whimper frightfully at the thought of Jack going in dry. He and Jack had hooked up plenty and he knew just how sizeable Jack was, even when well prepped and lubricated Jack could still leave Brock feeling somewhat hollowed out in the morning or more like, a favourite child’s toy that had taken some robust play and frayed a few stitches.

         Without further aplomb, Jack lined up and brusquely forced his way into Brock, who howled from behind his makeshift gag biting forcefully into the fabric to try and distract his mind from the shredding agony he could feel in his anus. Jack wasted little time and didn’t allow Brock anytime to adjust, he merely rumbled in pleasure before setting a brutal pace. Brock was barely able to keep his eyes open and could feel every shift of Jack as if the older man were trying to sodomise him with a canon. Brock's breath rattled shakily in his chest and he struggled desperately to relax his lower half in the vain hope he could dispel some of his agony. Jack was lost in his own pleasure and happy to plunge forth without abandon into Brock, his pace unrelenting and his force pitiless. Brock whined with every thrust and this slowly drew Jacks attention back to him, the tears were by now flowing quite freely from Brock as he continued to writhe and cry beneath Jack. Jack looked down and removed one beefy arm to grab hold of Brocks still, and unsurprisingly, limp dick and began to stroke in dry. This additional sensation was throwing Brock into yet further discomfort, no lube, pre-cum of spit made for a distinctly unpleasant hand job. Not to mention the searing pain that was coursing through his lower half being a major arousal killer.

“Look at that, do I repulse you that much? Such a slut you can get it up for everyone but me yeah? Disgusting little whore!” Jack remarked to Brocks humiliation and horror.

        There was nothing for Brock to do, he couldn’t be aroused by this and his best hope was to ride it out and hope to God that Jack found enough solace in his body to end his remorseless assault.

        Jacks rhythm began to falter and Brock allowed a small kindle of hope to rise in his chest at the idea they might nearly be done. Jack continued to pound away until finally he came hard and collapsed onto Brock, successfully squashing any air out of Brock. For an uncomfortable few minutes he lay there, on top of Brock, totally sated ad well aware that Brock was finding it difficult to breathe with Jack’s considerable weight on his chest and his now numb hands above his head.

        Slowly, Jack disengaged his now softened member from Brock and pulled away to head for the bathroom. Brock’s head was lost in pain and confusion; he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He needed Jack with him but he couldn’t handle this, it was too much. Jack walked back into the room and stood above Brock now, watching him as is he were a mildy interesting documentary.

“I’m gonna’ go watch some tv. Then I might go out for a bit. I’m leavin’ you here. Think about what I said, your mine Rumlow. All of you. Rule one: you don’t flirt.”

        Jack walked away leaving Brock stunned once more. It took only thirty minutes after the front door closed before Brock was crying through his gag for Jack to come back, he couldn’t be alone. He couldn’t be alone, he needed Jack.

        Jack sat back happily watching the CCTV feed from Brocks bedroom that he'd linked up before they had gotten together, stroking himself to the lamenting howls and cries from the younger man as he sobbed for Jack through his gag. Brock was where he wanted him, helpless without him.


	3. Jack's Practical Humour Isn't Always Funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies for the delay, my RL got massively in the way of everything! So as recompense this bad boy is almost three times as long as either of the other two! Yay! I've done a reasonable check on it but I'm kind of exhausted at the moment so I apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors you experience. Thank yu for reading, constructive comments are always welcome!   
> Peace,  
> Sky

     Not long after they had met Brock discovered Jack had a real sense for practical and slapstick humour. It started when Jack turned up at Brock’s one Thursday evening after a particularly harrowing month at SHIELD, where guns had been fired, smoke clouded everything, the air was thick with suspicion and people had bled. The Strike team had come away unscathed, if a little bruised but it was Brock who had had to deal with the majority of the fallout from several cocked up missions believed to be part of a large scheme by the Ten Rings. Meetings, extra missions and almost five weeks of no time off Strike finally earned a three day reprieve. Jack arrives with a six pack of mirco-brewery beers and a DVD of Laurel and Hardy whom he claimed were ‘only the greatest comic genius’ to have existed’. Brock was willing to give both a go in the interest of respecting his boyfriend and found that he did quite like the slapstick element, he may not have found it as gut wrenchingly humorous as Jack but it was certainly watchable enough. The beer was decent too and that always helped.

“Oh, man! Love tha’ shit, ya’ know?” Jack guffawed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “What do ya’ think Brockie?”

“Yeah, it’s good, I like the old school novelty.” Brock agrees.

     It’s after that when Jack has begun to insert himself more and more into Brocks existence that he begins to see how much Jack really liked this type of comedy, to the point where he is willing to instigate it himself. It starts small, like the Apple Pie bed trick which catches Brock out. It’s late and they are getting ready for bed, Jack is leaning in the doorway of the en suite watching as Brock stretches out his back and torso having endured a seventy-two hour stint in an alpine region of Europe sleeping very little and living in freezing temperatures. As such, this has left Brocks back feeling a little stiff and he needs to be ready because he, and Strike this time, are all flying out to South-East Asia tomorrow evening for a five day mission. The final toe touch to sun seeker complete Brock wiggles his body before pulling back the top sheet. Feeling eyes on him, Brock chances a glance up and sees the softened smirk adorning Jacks face and returns it with his own lopsided loving smile. Brock climbs in and groans gently at the feel of fresh sheets and a pliable mattress beneath his overworked muscles. Brock swung his legs onto the bed and under the sheets, it was as he pulled the top sheets up and went to push his legs down the bed that he hit a snag. He could only partially extend his legs, stupidly because he was tired, Brock decided to shove his legs which is when he met with an audible ripping sound and the sensation of his feet passing through fabric. Brock’s confusion was evident on his face as he turned to Jack who was now crouched in the bathroom doorway rasping heavily as he struggled to breathe and laugh at the same time. Brock looked away, befuddled by his boyfriend, and lifted the sheet to examine the situation. Upon looking he realised that he had managed to shove his legs through the second top sheet that had been folded back on itself so that the lower part of the sheet that was normally at the bottom of the bed was currently under Brock’s ass. Brock looked to Jack with a bemused smile gracing his lips, he’d only bought these sheets a month ago since Jack and his bedroom exploits had kind of destroyed a previous set. But, watching as his boyfriend wheezed and fall about in merriment at his quandary Brock found he couldn’t be cranky, he loved to see Jack happy and it was kind of funny, so he laughed along whilst looking for a replacement sheet in the linen cupboard. So the first time passed in good humour.

        The second time was, again, early in their relationship. Strike had been sent on a reconnaissance mission in La Serena, Chile, and the mission had been completed successfully but seeing as Strike had arrived incognito as tourists on separate planes, they were ordered to leave in the same manner as they had arrived. Jack and Brock, as senior leaders, were first in and last out. They used their extra two days post mission to enjoy some of the pleasures that the local area had to offer, in this case that meant the beach. They were stretched on the luminescent white sand staring languidly at an endless diamond blue sky. Jack had donned some form of short board shots that were a relaxed fit and came down around his mid-thigh. Brock had neglected to bring leisure swimwear since he hadn’t believed they would honestly have time, but the mission had been easy, the Intel gathered, recorded and sent. It was to his surprise when Jack said they should visit the beach and he disclosed his lack of swimwear that Jack announced as much as he loved Brock naked he didn’t feel that the people of Chile were ready for that and he would be back shortly. So Brock stripped off to just his shorts, smothered on sun lotion and headed for the balcony. Little under an hour later Jack returned with a small colourful bag and what could only be described as a shit eating grin on his face. From the bag he withdrew, what Brock could only describe as shorts in the style of ‘budgie smugglers’, think Daniel Craig a la Casino Royale and you get the picture. Brock laughed and Jack shook his head.

“I’m serious, I wanna’ show you off. Can a guy not treat his little wifey?” Jack chuckled darkly, his mouth smiling but his eyes left no room for discussion.

        Not one to cause trouble, and Brock knew questions would be asked if he came back limping or bruised from what had been an entirely easy and non-confrontational mission. Sure he could brush it off as a bar fight but that hardly looked good on his rapt sheet, it made him look like a loose cannon CO who perhaps had been promoted too early and he wasn’t willing to risk his spot that he’d worked damn hard for. So quickly, he stripped off and pulled the shorts on. Admittedly they looked good, even if they were a bit more revealing than he personally liked.

“Jesus, babe,” Jack moaned. “You look so hot!” Jack stepped up to Brock running his hands appreciatively over his slim hips and trim waistline.

        Brock enjoyed the caresses, he lived for them and only wished that Jack would be more giving with them. Jack groaned softly as he ran his warm hands over Brocks ribs, watching them like they were a work of art he was trying to understand. Slowly Jack drew his hands up to Brocks pecks and massaged them firmly causing Brock to lean into his touch all the more and tip his head back, loving the sensation of caring, warm hands. Jacks hands wound up to the tops of his shoulders running them along his visible collar bone and applied pressure, Brock opened his eyes to meet Jacks.

“Starting to look a little thin sweet pea, don’t go wastin’ away on me now,” Jack hummed.

“Thanks for the shorts, it was kind, they look good.” Brock said gratefully.

“Well now, if ya’ really wanna’ show some appreciation you could always...” Jack smiled, looking pointedly down at his slightly distended shorts. Taking the cue Brock sank to his knees to oblige.

        Fifteen minutes later found the boyfriends strolling down the cobble walk way to the beach, they bumped along close at the shoulder but not holding hands. Jack didn’t do that and Brock thought it would have been an unwise situation to do it in anyways. They were technically still on mission with who knows watching, knowing Fury they could well be being watched right now and not even know. The hot sand was glorious and after a furious roll in the sea both men retired back to their towels on the sand to take in some Vitamin D. They’d been there a few hours when Jack grumbled about feeling thirsty but too hot to move, Brock was quick to acquiesce and made his way to the cabana to find some waters. The que was extensive and it was a good five minutes before Brock could make it back to where he and Jack had sprawled out on their towels in the sun.

        Jack was sitting up and took a water with a smile, but no thanks, not that Brock minded, pleasantries weren’t Jacks style. Brock stepped around to lower himself back onto his towel, as he did so he relaxed his muscles and allowed himself to freefall backwards for the last foot intending to flop in boneless exhaustion. What he hadn’t anticipated was that he fall through the towel into a shallow two foot deep trench that had been carefully concealed beneath his beach towel. He looked up at Jack, puzzled by his current predicament only to be met with raucous laughter from the older man who was grasping his middles and howling in fits of laughter. Brock quickly established that he was yet again the recipient of one of Jack’s practical jokes. Smiling with good grace and a small chuckle of his own, he pulled himself out of the pit and moved his towel a little further over, so he was no longer sunk into the beach. Once resettled and Jack had finally stopped laughing, the afternoon restarted and Brock had to admit, his face had probably been a picture.

        The next practical joke had not been so hilarious. Jack came home one Tuesday evening and announced that he had been order to another Strike team for a three week mission where extra hands and experience were going to be needed as well as that they were departing the following evening. Brock was already aware of this having been informed by Murphy that Jack was being redeployed before he left for the evening and was unfazed by this news.

“Ya’ could at least look a little disappointed, or ya’ got something on the side you wanna’ see?” Jack groused bitterly, his eyes trained on Brock.

         Sensing a change Brock quickly assured him that it was only because Murphy had already passed on the information that afternoon during Jacks meeting so Brock could make the appropriate team arrangements.

“Whatever,” Jack growled. “But ya’ better behave whilst I’m gone. It’s gonna’ be three long weeks.”

“Murphy didn’t mention three weeks, he said two!” Brock said startled.

“Nah, told this afternoon, goin’ for three. Why the hell would ya’ trust Murphy, he’s vegan for fuck sake!” Jack rumbled, clearly displeased.

        He didn’t like not being able to keep an eye on Brock, how could he ensure obedience if he wasn’t there. Luckily, Jack already had a reasonable idea of how to ensure compliance in his absence, he’d seen it used before when trying to get information during extended interrogations. Sleep deprivation was a nasty business.

        Jack left for his mission and initially Brock felt quite at a loss without him. Around two days in, Brock noticed a change, he actually felt relaxed and calm. He and Jack had been together for little over seven months and he hadn’t realised how much weight he’d been carrying with him. Now, with Jack gone, he could stop walking on egg shells and being so wary of his actions. First thing that Saturday morning, he stepped over to Mrs. Connors and asked her how she was and if there was anything he could help with. He hadn’t seen much of the kind old lady, his free time was spent with Jack and Jack wasn’t the biggest fan of her, meaning Brock had become a little distanced from his neighbour, much to his sadness. Mrs. Connors greeted him with a broad smile and said her nephew had been round to help with her lawn and tidying her attic. Brock felt a little ashamed that she’d needed help and he hadn’t been the one to administer it, but he was glad she was well and he offered acceptance and went to turn back home.

“But, you know dear, I haven’t seen you in such a long time, how do you feel about a glass of ice tea and a piece of cake? You’re looking awfully thin again.” Mrs. Connors said sweetly.

        Never one to turn down some good company and free food Brock stepped inside. Two hours later found Brock hugging Mrs. Connors good bye with several containers in his hands of frozen stews and casseroles she’d made for him but ‘forgotten’ to drop round. Brock got the distinct impression she was entirely uncomfortable around Jack and had perhaps been avoiding Jack rather than Brock. Brock arrived home and set the majority of the Tupperware in his freezer, grateful that he wouldn’t need to cook for at least five days. He set one other in the fridge for tomorrow and one on the side for tonight.

        That night was when it started. Once he was fed and watered Brock tucked himself into bed, relishing his ability to stretch out although missing the presence of his large space-heating boyfriend. Rolling over, Brock nestled deep into the bed and soon was lost in sleep. Several hours passed before it began, one moment Brock was dreaming of endless grass plains and the next he was waking to a deafening news broadcast rolling through his house, and it was loud. Stumbling for the lamp Brock saw it was two in the morning and groaned at having to get up, grumbling away to himself he swung out of bed and staggered down stairs. He slowed as he reached the living room, he was the only one in the house. He hadn’t set the TV, so why was it on? He switched the main light on and made his way to the TV carefully scanning the room the entire way. He switched off the TV and the silence returned but was almost as deafening as the din the TV had made, in an eerie way. Brock continued on to sweep the basement and the ground floor before checking out the upstairs as he returned to his room. Nothing had moved, all was as he had left it. Settling back into bed Brock looked at the clock, half two now and he was due to be up and four to be at the Triskellion for half five. Slowly he drifted into an uneasy rest.

        The next night Brock made a conscious point of checking out the TV and could see nothing amiss. He checked the house to make sure all was locked and secured, it was. He settled upstairs to read for half an hour before putting his light out. He was dreaming of the same grassy plains before being robustly roused from sleep by the sound of the fire alarm. Tumbling swiftly from his bed Brock charged down stairs to the kitchen where he was greeted by a smoking oven and a beeping alarm. Quickly Brock disengaged the alarm and opened a window to air the room before all the other alarms went off, Brock approached the oven to discover inside the smoking remains of some plastic Tupperware he put in there to dry, it had belonged to Mrs. Connors. Checking the oven, he came to the conclusion the oven must have shorted and turned itself on somehow. Searching the cupboard below he found the power trip for the oven and switched it off to prevent further oven action. Using oven gloves he removed the charred and twisted remains of the Tupperware, the sight making his stomach twist uncomfortably. Thank goodness Rollins had insisted he install more than one smoke detector or the local fire department might have been pulling out Brock looking like the Tupperware before him. He threw the remains in the sink and doused them with cold water to be sure before closing the window and exiting the kitchen to head for bed. Climbing back in to the now cool bedding he glanced at the clock and saw it was three in the morning. He threw himself back on the bed and switched the lamp off, sleep quickly reclaimed him.

        The occurrences continued and by the end of the week Brock was convinced he either needed to call an electrician or a priest. The power shower starting up repeatedly throughout one night, then refusing to come on at all in the morning, Brock hated the communal locker room showers, all the eyes and the judgment over his body and its scars. One night it was the burglar sensor tripping constantly even though Brock had never set it when he was in, only when the house was unattended. Another night it was his pipes giving out and a fuck tonne of water landing in his bedroom, resulting in a frantic call to an emergency plumber who didn’t arrive until six am almost four hours after Brock had called him and been assured he would be there within the hour. It was then spending the weekend getting plumbers and plasterers in to do a quick refit of the damage, resulting in his being up at five in the morning to let them in both days of the weekend. On the following Monday, the start of Rollins second week away, it was being called in for a forty-eight hour detail cover of Stark who was at serious risk of kidnap. Brock seriously felt this one was a waste of his time, when was Stark not on a hit list? By the end of the forty-eight hours of non-stop partying he was certainly on Brocks.

        Later that week after repeated disturbances attributed to the TV, radio and shower Brock was at his wits end, desperate for sleep and resorting to unplugging all items and even tripping the mains before going to bed in hope of some undisturbed rest. It was not to last. An emergency in Bolivia called for Strike to assemble and head into the sweaty, humid mess of Latin America to deal with a major drug feud. Brock would have been tempted to call sick but this was being personally assigned to him by Pierce and he knew what that meant. HYDRA. No not going, do or die doing it. The result was four days of roughing it in the jungle having been separated in order to get Murphy’s pathetic ass out before he was roasted to crisp, Brock was picked up by Strike at the back up location. He chose to ignore the fact that they were over twenty-four hours late to the secondary rendezvous, he didn’t feel like an interpersonal tangle without Jack to cover his back and was just happy to be heading home. He hated himself for it, he felt weak, one year ago he would never have tolerated such conduct but things had changed for Brock. Now, without Jack to cover him, he felt distinctly unhinged by all that was happening both at home and at work.

        When Jack eventually returned home, it was to a strung out Brock with his leg strapped into a brace and bags the size of Texas under his eyes. The hug Jack received was one of desperation, Jack listened with barely contained glee, after all he’d witnessed it all from his hotel room on the CCTV but he schooled himself and played the concerned partner. He quelled Brocks fears about a dud house and promised to help him sort it. He enquired how Brock had hurt himself, though he already knew because Anders had already text him gleefully to inform him how the ‘retarded Rumlow’ had managed to hurt himself in a training exercise by passing out at the top of the high wall and crunching to the ground unconscious. Jack had been a little concerned initially but realised it only proved the efficiency and effectiveness of his plan to break Brock into order and make sure he needed Jack. Jack held Brock close and stroked his hair soothingly as Brock sobbed softly against his chest, revealing fears of inadequacy, fear of his team mates disloyalty, fear of Pierce if he failed and the never ending terror that invaded his mind that his father and uncle’s would find him. Jack shushed him and cuddled him, all the while smiling at his ability to control. So this practical joke passed without Brock ever knowing there was one. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the only time this happened.

        Jack knew from experience in interrogation that starvation could work wonders for breaking the mind and calling someone into line. His problem would be that as active and regular training professionals he and Brock were constantly exercising to be at their peak resulting in a real lack of body fat on either of them. Jack saw the way Brock would get ready in the morning, how he would choose his casual clothes carefully, how he would check himself in the mirror to make sure he looked just right. Jack knew that this wasn’t vanity on Brocks part, it was how Brock felt secure in himself by knowing that at the very least he had control of what was happening on the outside of his body even if he had little control of his thoughts. Brock knew that looking strong and together on the outside would keep the majority of the wolves at bay, sadly Jack was not in the majority and saw right through him. As such, Jack saw the perfect opportunity for some humorous fooling with Brock. Jack loved slapstick and physical humour, he found that linguistic humour was too subversive but he loved the overt obvious nature of slapstick humour and how people reacted when they were the part of a practical joke. Those looks of surprise, horror, confusion and shock were as overt as you could get and Jack loved them, especially when they were on Brocks face. Therefore Jacks new plan was to confuse and screw with Brock all the more by going for his body. What better way to exercise control than through humiliation and body manipulation, he knew he could bend Brock to his will, that he could confuse Brock to the point where he dominated his mind and body. It would be glorious.

        Ever since he had played that first prank on Brock, the Apple Pie bed, a classic, Jack felt more and more compelled to see the confusion and loss on Brocks face, he wore it so well. Jack wasn’t just a quick laughs kind of guy though, he could play the long game as well. Hell, wasn’t that what he was doing with Brock anyway? So planning carefully, Jack had set about to really mess with Bock this time. It had required a great deal of research and a little capital expenditure, which was no longer a problem as he was living with Brock for free, bar the odd grocery run, and his set up at the hotel cost him nothing as the seedy manager owed him a great debt from long ago thanks to Jack’s unique skill set and discretion at a time of desperation. Not long after the incident in the club where Jack had had to teach Brock the rule about flirting Jack had set about purchasing a few copies of Brocks favourite clothes. The black polo’s from Ralph Lauren that he loved, the soft maroon Jack Wills hoody (this had slightly horrified Jack when he discovered it), the dark wash Superdry jeans and the list continued. Jack carefully stashed the items at his hotel room so as to prevent their discovery and moved what he needed in small batches in his work holdall. The difference with these replica items was they were all a size or two smaller than Brocks normal size. Brock was not a huge build to start with but his solid chest and muscular abdomen made up for it, making him a large shirt size and a medium jeans. He was quite a light build for Strike but Jack knew from watching him in the field that this made him an excellent stealth operative and his diminutive body, in comparison to others of Strike, often gave him in the advantage when opponents would underestimate his skill and speed. Regardless, Jack had purchased clothes in small and medium sizes, even underwear, and set about subtly replacing the odd item from Brocks own wardrobe with the replica items. Of course he had to be careful when switching because as soon as Brock noticed anything wrong about the fit he would surely check the label, so carefully Jack made sure to unpick the labels and re-stitch them so what was once a small size pair of jeans were labelled as a medium. He started gently, with things like Brocks slightly looser fitting polo’s and tee’s, things that would only give the merest hint of a body change. It was so subtle that it in fact took Brock almost three weeks before he mentioned anything, although in this time Jack had noticed him often tugging at the replica items when he put them on and being particularly careful when setting temperature on the washing machine. But three weeks in and it started, much to Jacks barely contained glee.

“Hey, think this looks right?” Brock queried one morning whilst they were dressing, glancing between the dark t-shirt and his boyfriend who was lounging fully dressed on the bed.

“You look fine Princess, can we go now?” Jack whined, they were meeting some of Strike to watch a football match at Murphy’s house and he was keen to get the beer and get there, but not too keen to miss this.

“Well, I swear this wasn’t so tight fitting.” Brock huffed.

“I like it tight,” Jack crooned as he swung off the bed to step behind Brock and wrap his arms around his waist clasping them on the Brocks stomach. “I like your little pot belly.”

“I- I do not have a pot belly!” Brock gasped attempting to wriggle out of Jacks embrace.

“Oh pet, you do a little but don’t worry I love ‘ya” Jack murmured into his ear, strengthening his grasp and rubbing his thumb in small circles over Brocks flat stomach.

“Come on, we better go.” Brock said softly, clearly a bit put out and Jack certainly wasn’t going to pick him up.

         They set off arriving at the store, collecting the goods before moving on to Murphy’s house. Once there Jack was warmly greeted and Brock respectfully so, they settled in and Brock went to help Murphy in the kitchen. Jack kept an eagle eye on his lover throughout the afternoon, Brock was designated driver, so he wasn’t drinking anyway, but Jack noticed Brock making a concerted effort to try the different vegetarian and vegan options Murphy had made much to the host’s enjoyment. Jack smiled inwardly as Murphy talked through some good recipes with Brock and Brock studiously nodding and questioning throughout. It was starting. On the drive home Jack couldn’t help himself and brought it up.

“So my little wifey, getting some cookin’ tips, huh?” he grinned languidly.

“Just interested in some of the stuff Murphy made, it was pretty good. I liked the couscous and that stuffed pepper thing he made.” Brock tried to make it sound off hand, as if he’d always had an interest in cooking.

“Don’t give a shit what you do, but don’t take my steak away yeah? Or shit will really hit the fan!” Jack laughed mockingly, looking at Brock as he laughed along too though Jack could see the tight line on tension in his arms as he gripped the steering wheel fractionally harder.

         Jack could see the slight tremor of fear under Brocks skin, and fuck if it didn’t give him a hard on. Time carried on and Jack continued to manipulate Brock and his weight. When Brock tried on the first of the replica jeans whilst getting ready to go shopping he almost growled in frustration when he could barely do up the button and then proceeded to flex and stretch to try and loosen the jeans. Jack smiled and patted his well-contained rear as he went past.

“Maybe you need to ease up on the snacks, babe, people gonna’ think ya’ gotta’ bun in ya’ oven” he joked cruelly, loving the wince and fragile smile Brock gave him in return.

        Jack watched as Brock began to eat more vegetarian foods, dropping all sauces, dressings and sides from his meals. Although, Brock was still mindful to make sure Jack experienced no change in diet. Jack had decided that in order for this to have full affect he was going to have to take this one beyond the house and to work. He swapped out several pairs of Brock’s training shorts and settled back to watch the carnage. That Wednesday during the Strike physical training session Jack marvelled as Brock bent forward to finish his cooling stretches only to rocket upright at the sound of fraying stitches. Clasping his hands to his bottom, Brocks features turned from confused to aghast as he discovered a large hole in the back of his shorts. Anders, who had been stretching behind him, howled with laughter falling to the floor to wheeze and hack in delight at the CO’s embarrassment. Soon the other Strike members noticed and burst into a raucous cacophony of catcalling and banter at Brock’s shorts. Jack watched as Brock’s cheeks reddened with humiliation before heroically trying to laugh it off, the team settled back and finished their session. In the locker room afterwards, Jack watched cruelly as Brock endured whispers and dark chuckles whilst he changed. Westfahl and Holloway had always been mouthy towards Brock and were taking the opportunity to try and rile him further.

“Can’t believe this” whispered Westfahl conspiratorially.

“It’s a joke, got the fattest Strike CO in the damn company” Holloway followed, throwing a dark glance at Brock’s back.

“First they hand us some peach cheeked, puppy hick from Fagville, East Bumfuck and now he disgraces the team by letting himself get outta’ shape like this?” Westfahl hisses spitefully, staring daggers into Brock’s back.

“Jesus, talk about timing, half of SHIELD were just in the gym, be surprised if Fury and Pierce haven’t already heard about the lard-ass CO of Strike Alpha already.” Holloway grumbles as Brock steps away from his locker and heads for the door.

        Both men know he can hear them and it’s times like this Jack knows he should have been made Strike leader, he wouldn’t tolerate this shit and if he was lead the guys, and Anders, wouldn’t have the gall to even think of smack talking him. Instead, Brock lets it slide claiming that he isn’t going to punish them for hating him as long as they do their job. Jack had watched Brock’s head drop as the men talked in just audible murmurs and know it’ll be playing on his mind. Proof of this comes in the form of Brock taking on additional personal physical training sessions before work, Jack often wakes up now to an empty bed and Brock’s running trainers missing from the wardrobe. At first Jack had disliked this, it left him with morning wood and no satisfaction, however, he was soon able to rectify this when he found that Brock would come back pumped from his run and that a sweaty Brock was a bit of a turn on. Plus after Jack had mentioned that a rowdy round of sex could burn up to two hundred calories Brock had been even more receptive to his advances. It’s not long after this that Jack begins to see the results of his work, Brock regularly experiences consternation when dressing in the morning and Jack loves the spike of perverse pleasure he gets watching Brock struggle into clothes that aren’t his size, watching the sinewy muscles and more obvious ribs flex and curve as he wriggles into tight jeans that do wonders for his ass but not his confidence. Brock is eating less as well now and is almost vegan in principle, avoiding dairy products, drinking black unsweetened coffee, rarely having meat and if he does it’s grilled until it’s as dry as the desert. Jack marvels at the strength Brock has to fight the hunger pains and to avoid looking too longingly at the juicy steaks and hefty topping burgers that Jack continues to gorge on.

        After four months, even Strike have noticed and it’s like no matter what Brock does he just can’t win. Before they mocked him for the ripped shorts with words like ‘lard ass’ and ‘big-butt Brock’ and ‘round-Rumlow’ being snickered behind his back in a very juvenile fashion. Now they are more disdainful, they are punishing and are ashamed that after their gentle ribbing their CO has crumbled like a teenage girl and become anorexic. They’ve now dubbed him Brock ‘Bones’ Rumlow and Murphy, being the clueless fuck he is, doesn’t realise the origin of the name and is all too happy to use it thinking it a term of camaraderie rather than mockery. Brock continues to train hard and eat minimalistic amounts, he doubles his efforts on missions, if that were even possible he had always given his all in the field, throwing himself in to the fray without a backwards glance. Zipping around the field, earning high praise from both SHIELD and Hydra alike whilst trying to maintain a grip on himself. All the while Jack sits back and revels in chaos he has created in Brock’s mind. Jack loves their time in the bedroom all the more, in his dishevelled state Brock is far more pliant and unresisting in their bedroom activities often giving into Jacks more explorative ideas for the sake of reserving energy. Jack loves to caress and touch the bones that he feels he created, the rise and fall of Brock’s ribs are enough to entrance him, watching the concave curve of Brock’s stomach when Jack stretches him out across the bed or running his tongue along the vertebrates of Brocks spin when he bends him over onto his knees pushing that now truly subservient head down like Brock is an ashamed dog. However, it couldn’t last. Brocks punishing regime soon catch up with him culminating in a knife to the chest and a short stay in the SHIELD infirmary. They had been attacking a known AIM base just south of the Appalachian Mountains, their job was to provide cover for Widow and ensure her a safe exit. The Intel had been poor quality and resulted in the Strike team meeting a larger force than they had been led to believe was in operation, Strike were tough and handled it. However, it was when Brock was saving Westfahl, of all people, from a bullet to the back of the head that another guard got the drop on Brock and was able to jam a tactical SWAT knife between his fourth and fifth rib on his right hand side. Jack felt a spike of fear as he quickly took out Brock’s assailant before turning to Brock who had collapsed to his knees and was swaying perilously as the blood continued to pour from his chest. Jack caught him before he face planted the floor and bellowed to Westfahl to organise evacuation and call back Widow, Westfahl nodded dumbly before shaking himself into action, shouting into his own com and reorganising the exit. They were soon loaded onto the Quinjet and heading back for the Helicarrier, Jack had managed to get Brock somewhat stable and let the co-pilot, who was the trained medic, whilst Widow supervised their flight back and called in the damage. Brock was unconscious and the deathly pallor of his skin highlighted the seriousness of the situation. Strike were silent as they landed and Brock was removed and rushed away to emergency surgery. Jack followed as soon as debrief and showers were done with and was surprised to find himself joined by the Strike team and a very sorry looking Westfahl. He ignored the conversation for the most part as he waited with his foot bouncing impatiently for news, Brock had to live. He needed him, he’d put too much into his project to have him crap out him now Jack thought bitterly. It was Anders who roused him from his thoughts.

“I feel bad, he’s a good CO. I think we’ve been too hard on him.” She stated semi accusatorially looking at Westfahl and Holloway, both of whom had the good grace to look ashamed.

“Look, it’s not our fault he’s a pussy CO fag who can’t get it together” Westfahl said in attempt to push focus away from himself, Jack wasn’t having that.

“Perhaps if ya’ weren’t so concerned with ya’ CO’s performance he wouldn’t of had to save ya’ pathetic ass ‘coz ya’ weren’t payin’ attention!” Jack snarled, effectively shutting Westfahl up.

         Three hours passed and Strike remained waiting for news, Jack was seriously on the edge of killing someone but fortunately those were spared by the arrival of the surgeon.

“He’s going to be fine,” the Surgeon said waving his hands placating the team as Strike scrambled to their feet. “He’ll need to rest but he’ll be fine. No visitors tonight, poor man is going to be in some pain and needs his rest. Go home, come back tomorrow for visiting.”

        Strike looked around at each other and shrugged before retreating for home looking shockingly relieved that their CO was alive for a team who had mocked him so openly, perhaps, Jack thought to himself, I’ve misjudged what they see in him. Jack turned to address the Surgeon further but was waved away.

“Agent Romanov, a word please?” the Surgeon called out.

         Black Widow materialised and gracefully sauntered down the corridor, Jack hadn’t even known she was there. He really had been too preoccupied. Widow gave him a cursory nod as she passed, he returned it, and he wasn’t stupid enough to be rude to that woman, hell no. Realising he had been dismissed Jack walked away, quietly seething that he couldn’t see Brock but well aware that telling the Surgeon of their relationship was out of the question, he couldn’t risk it getting back to anyone. In walking away Jack was never privy to the conversation between the Surgeon and Agent Romanov, which followed along the lines of the Surgeon being concerned about Brocks physical state. He was thin, certainly well underweight, and there were several contusions and abrasions that looked older than a few hours as well as a nastily infected cut on the back of Brocks left shoulder blade that was well over a week old but healing poorly because of the infection and the overall physical state of his patient. The Surgeon was awaiting bloodwork for further information but was surprised by the state of the soldier. Widow listened unflinchingly and nodded were appropriate. Before leaving Widow assured the Surgeon that the Director would be informed and that she, herself, would look into it personally.

        As he arrived home Jack decided it was time to let this one drop, he couldn’t risk Brock getting himself killed. It’s not that he felt guilty though, he merely didn’t want to lose the best piece of ass he’d had in a long time. It would be a ball ache to have to find someone else, although one benefit would be he would probably take control of Strike. So really, Jack thought to himself, it was a win-win situation. He set about amusing himself with replacing Brock’s clothes back to their originals and smiling to himself that coming back to baggy clothes would probably only exacerbate the complex he’d already given Brock all the more.

        Brock was quickly discharged, and quietly, within the week following a visit from Widow leaving him blushing from the roots of his hair down to his chest and a meticulous meal plan from his Surgeon along with some follow up dates to monitor his progress. Of course Jack was the one to take him home and Brock gave him all the information like an over eager school-boy trying to kiss the teachers ass. The only thing Brock didn’t discuss was his conversation with Widow, he neglected to mention that at all deciding Jack didn’t need to be made jealous right now. Brock was surprised and a little overwhelmed by the Strike team’s response to his injury. It seems that his act of bravery to save the unsupportive Westfahl had earnt him some credit with the team and they visited him regularly over the next two weeks dropping off dvds, beer (which sadly Brock couldn’t enjoy yet due to the pain meds) and other get well gifts. They also assured him that should a similar situation ever arise nobody would hold it against him if he let Westfahl eat lead. Jack was disgruntled but could do nothing about it to get Brock back under his thumb, the wind-up of Brock being confused by his now oversized clothes wasn’t nearly the payoff he had expected and now, with the follow up appointments, he was having to be especially vigilant with Brock and not leave a mark. Jack was rankled something horrid and he knew once Brock was better he was going to do something to get him back under his control, he couldn’t have Brock floating away on the team valuing him, or Black Widow’s sudden interest in him, she’d sent a card for fucks sake!

          Opportunity for Jack’s big comeback came not long after Brock had returned to light duties. He wasn’t yet cleared for anything more that recon missions but was allowed back into the driving seat of Strike team Alpha. Brock was summoned to weapons testing for a look at some new equipment that Strike Alpha was going to field test run for research and development, Brock had asked Jack to come along too for his opinion. Jack knew Brock didn’t need his opinion and lightened his heart to think that Brock still felt the need to have Jack with him where possible, all was not lost yet then. Aside from the new flash grenade, a new digital lock decipher and some Kevlar shirts there wasn’t much to inspire. Brock listened dutifully as the tech took him through the items, explaining the pro’s and con’s as well as instructions for usage, Jack was distracted by the new concentrated pepper spray.

“Careful!” shouted the tech, hurrying over to remove it from Jacks bear like paws before placing it reverently back on the lab table. “New formula, but much more concentrated, sticks to soft material and still works so don’t go getting that on your clothes and if you do get rid of the clothes because you’ll struggle to get it out. Not to mention, with the increased concentration this stuff is a major skin irritant and likely to inflict severe chemical burns if left untreated for an extended period.” He said warningly before turning back to Brock.

        Jacks hands and mind were already in action, with Brock and the tech distracted Jack quickly pocketed a canister and began thinking through his plan. Later that evening as Brock washed up from their dinner, chicken with roasted vegetables and topped with Gruyere cheese as the meal plan dictated, Jack set about donning a workman’s dust mask before stepping up to the open bedroom window, pepper spray canister and roll of toilet paper in hand. Checking behind himself furtively to make sure Brock wasn’t coming upstairs Jack held his hands out the window whilst trying to keep his head as far away as possible, he gave the paper a generous spray making sure to spray the roll all over. Despite having kept his face turned away and mostly protected by the window even now Jack can feel the acidity of the spray, it sends a tingle of pleasure shooting straight to his stomach at the thought of the intensity. Gently, Jack sets the canister on the ledge and pulls his arms back inside being mindful not to let the toilet roll touch any of the surfaces or furnishings. He proceeds back to the bathroom carrying the toilet roll at arm’s length and once in the bathroom sets it back on the toilet roll holder tugging gently on the end piece of paper just to make sure the pepper spray hasn’t somehow stuck it together resulting in the end of the plan. But it’s worked, the paper still unrolls and Jack decides to give it one last quick blast with the canister for good measure. Hurrying he retrieves the canister from the windowsill, applies the spray and hurries back into the bedroom to hide the canister and air the room so there is no hint of the acrid smelling spray. Removing his mask and stowing it into the bottom of his holdall and closing the cupboard on his deviancy Jack bounds lithely back down the stairs with the promise of what is to come elating him until it’s almost too much. Brock gives him a quizzical look as Jack strides into the kitchen as Brock is standing up from putting the last dish away in cupboard, Jack sweeps him into his arms and kisses him with passion.

“Just want ya’ to know how much I love ya’” he gasps in Brocks face holding the smaller man close, revelling in the still visible bones that shift beneath his fingers.

“Well,” Brock huffs back with a smile ghosting on his lips. “That’s always good to know.”

Jack chuckles softly, tugging Brock away from the kitchen and removing the dish cloth from his hands to cast it onto the work surface. He pulls Brock close again in the doorway, enveloping him into the strong embrace of his arms, breathing Brocks clean masculine scent and absorbing the warmth of his chest against his own.

“We’re going to bed.” He commands quietly and cheers internally at the tension that stiffens Brocks body at that suggestion, the visceral scent of fear bleeding from his skin onto Jack.

“No, nothing adventurous tonight, just a peaceful night with my boy by my side” Jack whispers in a lover-like fashion.

        Brock softens again and leans into Jacks formidable presence, Jack feels him breathing deeply as Brock rests his head and chest against Jacks. So needy still, Jack thinks, he’ll need me all the more soon enough. Jack pulls him entirely from kitchen and tucks him close into his side. This was one of his favourite things about Brock; the way when he gave affection the younger man inhaled it like a man starved of oxygen, seemed to desire it like the burning man in a desert wishes for water. Brock gave all he had and was never more open when Jack was affectionate to him, though his physical wounds of his childhood had healed it was clear he was emotionally scarred and craved any softness thrown to him. But in Jack's opinion this was what made him all the more beautiful because what better way to break Brock than to give him everything he desired, watch him as he gave all that he was to Jack to then use it. Manipulate it. Then crush him with it because in Jacks eyes no one made punishment more gorgeous than Brock, no one could take punishment more stunningly than Brock and Jack loved it. They made their way to the bedroom and Jack set about prepping as if they were truly just going to bed, he shushed Brock off to the bathroom first claiming he wanted to collect his kit for the next day first before using it himself. Brock entered the bathroom and closed the door softly behind himself and Jack knew at this point that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. Brock had a strange thing about the bathroom and was happy to clean his teeth, wash his face or shower in front of others but seemed to really disdain of using the toilet in front of others, even Jack. Shutting the door meant Brock was definitely going to use the porcelain throne, exactly like Jack wanted because then, then he would need toilet paper. Jack tossed himself lightly onto the bed, crossing his ankles and linking his hands behind his head, the pose of a man completely unconcerned by time.

        He waited for a few minutes and then heard the flushing of the toilet, he couldn’t withhold his smile. He strained his ears. Listening intently. Then, he heard it. It started out as a huffed breath, then a shallow whine, pained. Jack chuckled as he listened to Brock in the bathroom, the moans getting louder, muttered cursing breaking in now and again to punctuate Brock’s apparent discomfort. Feigning the concerned boyfriend, Jack swung himself from the bed and approached the bathroom door to knock lightly.

“Are ya’ alright Brock? Making some strange sounds boy.” Jack enquired, his tone light.

“N-n-no, not alright” came Brocks huffed reply, followed by another whimper. “My ass is burning, somethings wrong, I-I don’t know what though.”

Confusion was evident in Brocks tone and Jack got a swift swoop in his lower stomach as he heard the concern in Brocks voice.

“Hang on, I’ll come give ya’ a hand” Jack offered, twisting the handle and stepping forward only to be shoved back by the door shutting firmly in his face.

“No!” Brock wailed. “Don’t, d-don’t. I…just give me a minute. Just need to shower, which will make it better. Think I-I must be allergic to the toilet roll or something.”

        Jack pushed against the door, only to find Brock had slid the deadbolt across. He snarled inwardly, regretting the fact that he had never removed the lock for a twisting catch he could pick externally. Well, he thought bitterly, lesson learnt. But even the anger aimed at himself couldn’t quell his disdain for the fact that Brock had shut him out, he had no control. Jack had to make a quick decision, if Brock showered he wouldn’t get the full effect of when Jack took him but the only way Jack was getting in there was if he broke the door down, which may cause Brock to push him away or buckle under his dominance. It was a risk, but for Brocks subservience to him, Jack was willing to risk it. So, leaning back he squared him chest and threw himself at the door hitting low near the lock. The door was flimsy and gave way under his brutal strength. Upon entering Jack saw Brock in the doorway of the shower, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief, confusion and no small amount of terror. Brocks body was angled in such a way that Jack could see the spray on the toilet roll was obviously potent enough to cause some major skin irritation judging by the way a sprawl of reddening skin was emerging from between Brocks cheeks looking rough and painful. Brock was trembling now, from pain or shock Jack couldn’t be sure, but he liked it anyway.

“I wanted to w-wash off, see if that helped, might get rid of…whatever irritated m-me.” Brock said softly.

        Now that Jack could see the extent of the sprays irritant properties he made a quick revision, he certainly didn’t want that shit anywhere near his dick.

“Sorry, thought you were in trouble or some shit,” he offered gently. “Couldn’t let ya’ be hurt alone. Let me help wash it off, see if that calms it down.”

Brock looked unsure but was unwilling to risk his boyfriend’s wrath when he was already in a fragile state and frankly, he just wanted the burn to go away.

“O-ok.”

        Jack stepped forward dropping his boxers and stepping into the cubicle with Brock, as always making sure he dwarfed the man by looming over him just enough to make Brock shrink slightly.

“Turn around, I’ll use the shower head to spray off.”

         Brock complied and rested his hands against the tiles, leaning forward ever so slightly so his backside was bent towards Jack. Jack removed the shower head and stretch it past Brock letting some of the lukewarm water trickle down Brocks back, he used his right foot to kick Brocks legs a little wider apart and loved the choked of whimper he got as a response along with the full body tremor. Using his left hand to manoeuvre Brocks cheeks apart Jack angled the spray to it could wash away some of the spray residue plaguing Brocks skin. Piteously, Brock moaned beneath him.

“Better” he said quietly.

“Good” Jack responded.

        Jack took his left hand away to grab a bottle of sea salt shower gel and squirted a small amount between Brocks cheeks, he massaged it in gently and in doing so felt himself begin to harden considerably. Jack lathered Brocks skin delving deep into the crack of his ass under the pretence of being thorough but Brock was too relieved at the slowly reducing burn of his skin to notice much else, besides, it’s not as though Jack wasn’t normally handsy with him. Brock huffed softly under the ministrations and Jack no longer felt he could wait to get back to the bed, he was rock solid and leaking already. Slowly Jack lifted the shower head back to its rest making sure to let the water gently douse Brock as his did so, shower head resting Jack began to smooth his soapy hands over Brocks back running his fingers reverently over the still visible ribs. His eyes tracked the movement of Brocks muscles under his skin, marvelling at the slight tension that came when Jacks hands had first moved to his back and ribs, tracing that fresh scar tenderly, then watching as the tension dissipated under his attentions. Brock hummed softly again.

“Ya’ like that, boy? Feels good to be taken care of, don’t it?” Jack purred from behind using his grip on Brocks hips to pull himself up against the younger man.

“Y-yeah, no more burning is a bit of a blessing.” Brock breathed, his head dropping under the spray and switching the handle off before attempting to twist back to his lover. “So ready for bed though, these last few months have been exhausting.”

        Brock says as he reaches for the cubicle door, hoping that this wouldn’t escalate. Jack’s hand encloses over his preventing his grasp from reaching the handle.

“You can’t give me a show like that and then leave without due payment.” Jack states intensely his eyes boring into Brocks.

         Realisation flickers through Brocks gentle features, all traces of relaxation lost as he flinches under Jack’s unyielding gaze. Jack drops his hands lower on Brock’s hips and begins to twist him back to the shower with only minimal resistance on Brock’s part, in fact, Brock appears to have gone completely loose under Jack’s hands. Jack leans past him to restart the shower and angles the spray more towards Brock’s head, succeeding in dousing the younger man with an unrelenting spray of water. Brock gasps under the spray as the water catches his face and pours off his head swilling into his eyes and mouth, he gusts out heavily to try and clear his airway. Jack smiles smugly at Brock’s lack of protest and willingness to acquiesce to Jack’s demands, even when Jack is near waterboarding him under the shower spray.

“Ja-Jack, please, my….I’m sore and I-I don’t wanna give you a rash too. You’ll get a rash on your dick, it burns Jack, and it’ll really h-hurt.” Brock whimpers and chokes from under the spray, attempting to wiggle his head away from it for more air.

        Jack uses his right hand to grab the back of Brock’s neck forcing his head down and under the spray. “Remember, I make the choices ya’ little bitch!” Jack bites out.

“This is what we’re doing, get over it!”

         Unremittingly Jack grips the shorts hairs at the back of Brock’s head holding him under the spray forcing him to gasp further as his mouth is flooded with water. Using his left hand, Jack kneads the firm muscles of Brock’s backside massaging his hands deep into the flesh wringing a small whimper that is equal parts arousal and fear from Brock. Jack uses the sea salt soap from the shower rack to douse Brocks back watching as it rolls smoothly down the crack of Brock’s ass disappearing from view. Dropping the bottle Jack rubs himself bodily along Brock’s back, allowing his hardness to cruise through the valley of Brock’s ass. Jack’s chest is pressed up against Brock’s back and he relishes the feel of the small waves of tremors that vibrate through the youthful musculature beneath him.

         Brock still had his hands clenched at his side, trying desperately to quell his quivering frame and thoroughly unsure what to do. Or rather, he knew exactly what to do by now. Stay quiet, let Jack do what he needed to, let it happen or risk losing Jack. A prospect that Brock really couldn’t even dare himself to contemplate. Jack tired of the teasing, his own self was beyond hard and desperate for release. Jack grasped Brock’s hands in an iron grip and forced the palm up against the shower wall.

“If ya’ know what’s good for ya’, ya’ ain’t gonna’ move whore.” Jack warned menacingly.

         Swiftly moving both his own hand’s back to Brocks hips, and making sure his grip could be nothing but bruising, Jack thrust straight into Brock without further delay. The burn that Brock felt was beyond reasoning, at the first invasion his legs buckled and it was only because Jack had him braced against the wall and a punishing command of his hips that Brock didn’t either flop to the floor or face-plant the wall. He did, however, let out a very audible sound that could only be described as a highly unmanly shriek. It did nothing to dissuade Jack’s onslaught though, if anything it spurred his efforts as Jack didn’t break stride and continued in his handling with gruelling force. Brock desperately tried to remain on his feet, falling over would only result in a punishment for his poor performance and punishment would mean further ‘bedroom’ action (that really wasn’t pleasant if he was honest) and or a vicious physical assault to put him “back in his place” as Jack often referred to it. Neither of these options appealed so his best chance of ending this quickly was to give Jack what he wanted and hope that would be the end of it.

        The arduous assault continued, its brutality unrelenting and merciless. Brock’s ass had burned with unnatural pain before the shower but now, with Jack invasion, it felt as though he we being scoured with a metal gun brush. As if his very skin we being shredded from his body layer by layer. The metallic tang of blood swirled over his tongue and gums, Brock realised how hard he was biting the inside of his lip to try and stop the noises that were flowing from his mouth. It was futile though, the whimpers and whines came anyway, his throat betraying him.

“Urrg, bitch, ya’ feel so tight. Finally been keepin’ your ass to ya’self, little whore. So, so good.” Jack groaned salaciously. “My little slut, my good little whore, loving little bitch.”

         Brock shrivelled away from the names, shame and fear clawing at his chest. Daring to open his eyes, with his head already point down, Brock was horrified but unsurprised to see his own flaccid member dangling pointlessly between his own thighs. He could only pray to the numerous deities people believed in that Jack wouldn’t notice. As always though, his prayers went unanswered. At least they’re consistent, Brock thought bitterly cursing all manner of holy beings. Jack’s thrusts became, if possible, more forceful and erratic as he headed for the cliff of climax. Brock held still hoping things would end soon. Jack ground out a growls as he came letting his head drop to Brock’s shoulder as he came, driving through his aftershocks and, in a moment of brutality, bit fiercely into the jointure of Brock’s shoulder and neck wrenching a shout of pain from his feeble partner.

        Jack slowly halted letting his hardness come down from its much enjoyed high, unhurriedly removing his now embedded teeth from Brocks shoulder and swallowing the metallic taste of Brock in his mouth. Leaning forward, his licked over the bite revelling in the little snivels from Brock and seeing the delightful set of bloody teeth marks he had left which, if treated right, would scar appealingly.

“Hmm,” Jack grumbled in Brock’s ear. “That was pretty good.”

        Brock nodded feebly, his head still down and hands still in place on the wall, his legs quivering delightfully under the strain. Jack turned him round and couldn’t have been more thrilled to see the lack of arousal in Brock. Brock had gotten nothing from this but had done nothing to stop Jack’s treatment, choosing to play marionette and let Jack do as he pleased than risk upsetting Jack. Perfect, Jack cheered inwardly. What he projected externally though, was quite different.

“Fucking typical” Jack snarled. “I give ya’ my affection and ya’ can’t even be fucked to take an interest. Why do I fucking bother with ya’?”

         Brock shook before him, no response. Jack slapped him so viciously that Brock slammed into the tiled wall to his right, his head ricocheting with severe force causing his legs to finally give way and he slumped to the shower tray. Jack stepped out of the shower turning the water pressure on the shower up as he did so. His right hand to hold of the shower head whilst his left fisted a handful on Brock’s hair, a small trickle of blood weaving its way down from Brock’s hairline and across his forehead.

“Better clean ya’ up dirty whore, coz’ at least I know how to give a shit about my partners, slut!” Jack roared into Brock’s face which had turned white with pain and dread.

         Jack forced Brock onto his back, using his left knee to pin Brock’s chest as the petrified man gave hopeless wriggles against his hold. Jack manoeuvred the shower head until it was over Brock’s face letting the water cascade into Brock’s airways and eyes. The young man began to shake and scramble in earnest now, desperate for clear air as alarm overtook his senses. Jack relished his cruelty, he knew this had been one of Brock’s Grandmother’s favourite ways to punish her supposedly wayward Grandson when he’d been small enough for her to do so. Jack knew that Brock would be lost in a flashback right now and that this would only fuel his terror all the more. After several minutes of letting the younger man thrash around Jack released him, using a foot to keep him in place as Brock panted frantically on the floor of the shower tray.

          Jack hooked the shower head back in place and deftly turned off the shower before removing his foot, he felt a pool of arousal tingle deep in his belly as Brock scrambled like some simpering, subservient puppy across the floor before skittering to a halt near the sink, clasping at the podium like a sick parody of a Koala in a tree. Stepping forward, all intensions dark, Jack towered over the cowering form of his lover who was lost deep in memory and horror. Half a dozen swift heel stamps to the ribs seemed to break Brock from the memory as he whimpered pitifully on the floor.

“J-J-Jack…pl-pl-please….sstop,” Brock sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I…I love you, please…don’t hate me.”

         Breaking off into further streams of tears, all out howling on the floor. Jack looked down on him without mercy, his eyes full of malice and perverse pleasure at seeing Brock fall to his feet, too lost to even fight anymore, and too lost to understand what Jack did was wrong. Jack crouched down, marvelling at the flinch from Brock as he did so. He took a deep breath like a parent trying to be patient with an unruly child.

“I love ya’, that’ why I do this. I can’t stand it when ya’ don’t love me back.” His tone full of affection, he could act with the best, he was HYDRA after all. “I-I’m sorry!”

         Brock cried still huddled under the basin. Jack decided he was ready for bed and took a strong grip of Brock’s wrists in order to haul him bodily to his feet.

“Come on, silly. Let’s go to bed, yeah? Get some rest, ya’ so tired little Brockie.” Jack whispered lover soft as he held a trembling, cowering Brock to his chest, even going so far as to kiss the top of Brock’s head in an insincere show of tenderness.

        He moved Brock towards the bed, deciding to settle him without pyjamas since he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the bruises in the morning. Quickly stepping away to turn off the lights Jack then returned to bed and climbed in capturing his prey into his arms as he did so. Shushing him gently when Brock shook violently in his arms. Sometimes Jack felt that not all parties needed to be in on a joke for it to funny. He squeezed Brock closer to his side, loving the soft moan of pain that resulted. He had Brock right where he wanted him, powerless in his grasp.


End file.
